The Final Problem
by SherlockedUntilDeath
Summary: What happened to the love of Sherlock's life when she found out about the suicide? And what or whom did Sherlock think of as he fell?


_Goodbye Miss Adler – SH_

If a woman receives a text that says 'Goodbye', the woman in question wouldn't freeze her movements. She wouldn't stare into the wall opposite her, feeling miserable and, hypothetically, cry of agony and anger. Though, the late Irene Adler wasn't like any other woman. So when she received the text from Sherlock Holmes, she did all those things and possibly more. Though, just for a brief moment. Her awareness was already somewhere else, in an unfamiliar place with someone else. And this someone else was without doubt her Sherlock.

A few phone calls could make a huge difference. It could, literally, make the difference between life and death. Irene Adler went by car to the area in London where her source had informed her that he would stand. On a roof. Committing suicide. Particularly that part confused her to no end, the Sherlock Holmes she had known would never commit suicide. He was far too proud and thought too highly of himself to actually kill or harm himself. He must have been threatened by someone. But _who?_ Sherlock didn't care for anyone or anything, who could possibly mean that much to him. Three seconds passed until bright images flashed through her splendid mind and filled her field of sight. _John Watson. Mrs Hudson._ _Jim Moriarty._ Her heart sank like a stone in her chest when she grasped the entire problem. The final problem.

He felt the panic rip through his entire body. He had to fulfil the plan, premeditated mostly by him and Molly Hooper. She wouldn't fail him, he trusted her. He finally understood Mycroft's choice of words. _Caring is not an advantage._ He didn't want to be depended by others. So called friends. But he did and there he stood. On the roof of a gigantic building, committing suicide. Sentiment would kill him, and he would die in disgrace. He could suddenly hear his own voice, loudly echoing in his mind. _I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof. _And this was most definitely proof. The final proof.

She spotted John Watson as soon as she approached the collections of buildings. She took the other way around them, standing to the left of the highest of them. Then she saw him on the roof, with his phone sized to his ear. She could feel her pulse elevate, but this time not of attraction. It elevated of fear. He looked frightened too, not as mechanical and robotic as she had remembered him. And at the same time, she sensed a calm embrace her. He looked too calculating. Still sure of himself. And he was not going to commit suicide today, or any other day for that matter. He had found a way to save himself from the claw like hands of Jim Moriarty.

"This phone call is… it's my note." He helplessly stretched his hand out, hoping that John would do precisely as he told him to. The plan wouldn't work otherwise. "It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."

"Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye John." His voice seemed to regain its robotically ring and he felt determined. They both would survive.

"No. Don't…" He could hear the despair in John's stressed voice, and he wanted to tell him the intrigue. But he couldn't. Because it wasn't _the _intrigue. It wasn't the final intrigue.

Irene Adler heard John Watson's scream. She watched Sherlock as he threw the phone away. She felt her heart beat harder and harder. _It's a fake, it's a fake. It's not real, _it sang as he leaned forward, she was absolutely confident that he was going to jump in any second. And she was absolutely confident that he wasn't going to die.

The last sentiment he felt was alleviation. He felt relieved when he thought of the plan. It was going to work, effortlessly. He could hear in John's voice that he had swallowed the bite. He truly believed that Sherlock was going to kill himself. He felt relieved when he thought of Moriarty's death. He felt relieved when he thought of the bullet from a gun that never was going to hit its target. But he felt most relieved when he thought of another person, who Moriarty hadn't identified as the person he cared for the most. He knew that he was falling for her as well, though she wasn't threatened by death. He wanted to smile as he thought of the text he had sent her. But that wasn't _the _text. It wasn't the final text.

**AN: So the one-shot is here. Don't have much to say, though. Oh, right. I have,**

**REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW,**


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